


Clexa Mafia AU

by LB98



Category: Ranya - Fandom, The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB98/pseuds/LB98
Summary: Lexa Woods, head of the Trikru crime family, leads a coalition made up of twelve other families from the surrounding states. Along with her siblings, Lincoln and Anya, she runs the city of Polis; from drugs to guns, there’s nothing this family doesn’t have their hands in.Lexa struggles to balance her personal life with her family’s business when she finds her self drawn to a beautiful, blonde woman who happens to be the owner of the new flower shop downtown.The duty to her people has always come first. Now those relationships will be put to the test as she wrestles with whether or not to remain loyal to her head or her heart, all while trying to maintain her iron grip on the coalition.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Clexa work. I hope you enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think!

It was two in the morning when the idea hit her, when the need to sketch it out became so powerful she could no longer ignore it. A new arrangement, one that would captivate any passerby with it with its grandiose coloring; subconsciously calling them to shop and begging them to purchase it. Hopefully, if she found just the right arrangement with just the right flowers — a perfect balance of roses to lilies, petunias to peonies (hell, she might just throw in some lavender) — someone would see it and be simply compelled to buy it. They might even spread the word about the small shop downtown and it could drum up some much needed business because if Clarke Griffin was being honest with herself…the store was not doing well.  
  


When the young woman’s parents passed suddenly she realized that she could no longer put her dreams on hold. She dropped out of med school after only a year, sold all her belongings to buy a plane ticket that would take her across the country. Clarke used her inheritance to pay off her student loans and start her very own business. Admittedly, the space she chose to house her flower shop — which still didn’t have a name — wasn’t in the best of shape, nor was it on the best side of town. Some might attribute that to the reason why her business was currently in the red but, she knew all it would take was for her to get the word out. She knew she couldn’t keep affording to live off of her parents life insurance money; it was bound to run out and soon.  
  


That’s how the 23 year old woman found herself walking to her shop in the wee hours of the morning; desperate to simply get the idea on paper before she even attempts to construct it. She had to start turning a profit or she was going to have sell everything once again just to move back home to the small town of Arkadia. Clarke would be damned if she had to give up on her dream and face all the naysayers who had told her that in this day and age she would be foolish to think she could run a successful business, let alone one that revolved around the sell of flowers. Clarke Griffin would not accept failure, not when her livelihood depended on the success of this business venture. So she tugged her jacket tighter around her body and pushed onward, determined to figure it all out.    
  


It wasn’t quite spring but it also wasn’t fall anymore. The weather was in some weird, seasonal limbo of sorts. Not terribly cold but definitely not warm enough to travel at night without some form of a jacket. The eeriness of the weather combined with the lowlight cast from the surrounding streetlights do nothing to assuage the slight uneasiness she feels at being on this side of town at this time of night. She can’t help but feel somewhat shameful at being wary of walking alone at night to her own business. That’s another reason she needs this store to become successful. She would love nothing more than to be able to rent out, or better yet, own her own space on a better side of town.  
  


The ideas of what she could do with a bigger and better place, the dreams of natural light, antique doors, and vintage decor are immediately put on hold at the sound of a scream. A scream so loud and bloodcurdling it almost covers the noise of a body slamming into the cement walkway, right in front of Clarke.  
  


Clarke can’t help but let out a short scream of her own at the sound of impact the figure makes. Her hands fly to cover her mouth and muffle her own voice as she slams her back against a neighboring building. She tries to regulate her breathing as she stares wide eyed at the mangled body laying limp before her. Clarke had never heard a bone snap, let alone multiple ones all at once. Clarke had never seen someone’s head slam hard enough to bounce causing their skull to crack open and send brain matter spewing across the ground and against the cold bricks on the nearby building, right by Clarke’s cowering form.  
  


It takes her several moments to collect herself enough to check on the individual. She pushes down the bile rising in her throat at the sight of motionless form. As she takes slow, unsteady steps toward who she now knows is a man. His arms and legs are twisted in an incomprehensible way that makes the hair on the back of Clarke’s neck stand up. She calls out to him, albeit naively, asking him if he can hear her, if he’s okay. The answer unfortunately for both Clarke and the unknown man is no.  
  


Clarke has no idea what to do. Should she call someone? Who would she call?911? No, he’s clearly dead so it’s not like it’s really an emergency. The police? Maybe but would they really do anything besides declare it an accident so they didn’t have to deal with it? Was this an accident, what exactly happened?  
  


That was a question she hadn’t truly thought about. Had the man decided to take his life in the early morning hours, had he fallen accidentally…had he been pushed? Clarke searched frantically, looking any and everywhere around her for a trace of something to give her at least a hint of what had occurred. Her answer came in the form of a lithe body resting against the hood of a matte black sports car across the street from where this had all transpired. A woman, clad in a fitted suit that had be worth more than Clarke’s rent three times over, watched Clarke intensely. She was a tall, brunette with hair that fell down past her shoulders in loose curls. But thats not what really catches Clarke’s attention. What really captures the florist is the mysterious woman’s eyes.  
  


Clarke is pretty sure she’s never seen eyes as green as the ones belonging to this woman. The color reminiscent of a forest, dark and stormy; eyes that seemed to only fit her, like they were specially crafted by God himself for this woman. The cerulean blue of Clarke’s own eyes melding into the jade of the unknown woman’s leaves them both speechless. They hold each other’s stare for the longest time, somewhat frozen in this very moment. That is until the woman lifts one finger to her mouth and holds it there in a kind of shushing motion. Clarke knows immediately who the woman is, she knows that she was involved in this, most likely the one who organized it. Clarke knows that the brunette has just given her a warning.  
  


_Keep your mouth shut._  


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since the incident or more specifically, its been a week since Lexa saw her. The startled blue eyes managed to burn their way into Lexa’s head. She has tried everything to stop thinking about the blonde woman. She’s tried everything to rid her memory of the cerulean eyes that managed to capture her entire being within the span of minutes. She spends most of, if not all of her time dealing with work related issues. Making product, pushing product, dealing with trade disputes, and settling issues between different families. Her current stressor was the Azgeda family. Nia, the head of the crime family from the northern most states, was constantly dealing in territory that did not belong to her and killing the gonas belonging to those regions. It was starting to become a real problem with some of the surrounding families — understandably so — which meant it was even bigger problem for Lexa. When you’re _Heda_ , you command all the other families within the coalition and are often left dealing with more complex issues than any lower level gona would. However, when a certain issue ceases to be taken care of _Heda_ will ultimately be the one left taking care of it once and for all.  
  


That’s how Lexa found herself making her way to one of Trikru’s many safe houses in the city of Polis. The family had many different facilities for various occasions. They had designated areas for meetings between families, areas for business dealings that were more on the legal side of things, and they had spaces dedicated to things that were not to be spoken about outside of said space. Where she was headed currently wasn’t technically a house but rather a large warehouse often used for…messier meetings. When Anya had called and told Lexa to come to the warehouse, she was relieved. Carrying out the duties of _Heda_ , combined with her never ending thoughts about a certain blonde has left her with no time to relax. Hopefully, taking care of whatever was in that building will allow her to blow off some steam.  
  


Walking though the back entrance of the large, gray building Lexa greets her sister. They grip one another’s arms in a traditional Trikru handshake before Anya leads her back to the problem at hand. It was a rather formal greeting but this is business — family business but, business nonetheless. The siblings travel down the nearest hallway, the florescent lighting and concrete floors give off a kind of sterile essence. The sound of their shoes echoes throughout as they move swiftly towards their point of interest. There are no pictures lining the walls; nothing of sentimental value hangs in the safe house. No personal attachments, that was how they were raised. Attachments get people killed. Love is weakness. _Hodness laik kwelnes_.  
  


When they round the corner Lexa knows precisely why she was called to deal with this problem. There, sat in some old, rusty, metal chair with his hands and wrists secured to it was Finn Collins. To say they had history would be quite the understatement. Finn has reputation for making bad business deals and even worse decisions. He’d been a thorn in the family’s side for some time now so Lexa was looking forward to taking care of this once and for all. It always astounded her that people would attempt to scam her and/or her family. To cross the Trikru was the equivalent of signing your own death certificate and plunging the final nail into your coffin. The family has never tried to hide their business dealings or disguise their motives but, if people refuse to acknowledge the power of Trikru, the power of _Heda_ , they would soon learn how truly powerful she was just like Finn about to. _Jus drein jus daun_.  
  


Lexa takes slow, steady steps toward him, watching as his eyes grow in size at the sight of her — at the sight of _Heda_. Beside him is a table lined with knives, picks, hammers, and pliers. One specifically catches her eye. A knife with a thick, wooden handle that looked like it was handcrafted judging by the intricate designs adorning it. She picks up the knife before sitting down on an offered chair that was purposefully located right in front of the fearful man. Lexa inspects the beautiful craftsmanship of the weapon. Turning it methodically in her hand as she gets accustomed to its weight. She asses the man in front of her as she runs her long fingers along the blade of the knife. His hair is greasy and it hangs loosely in his face, camouflaging a fresh wound to his temple that no doubt was her sister’s doing.  
  


“Would you like to explain to me what exactly you’ve done to warrant my attention?” She asks while staring daggers into the man across from her. He swallows hard and squirms under her glare.  
  


“ _Heda_ , please! It’s not what you think-”   
  


“You know what I think? I think that you like to play the tables too much and you like to spend nights with women that you can’t afford and now, it’s coming back to bite you.” Cutting him off, she moves to place the knife back on the table. She runs her dark eyes over all the options laid before her, all the ways she could hurt him, break him. Her fingers ghost over several items before settling on a small pair of pliers that appear to have something akin to dried blood on it. She returns to her previous spot, in front of him, before continuing.  
  


“Do you know how a loan works? See, when you borrow money from the bank or in this case, me, and you have an allotted amount of time to pay back any money borrowed plus interest. Anya, have you received any sort of repayment?” She asks, turning to glance back at her sister who had her arms crossed in a menacing stance. Anya takes a step toward the seated pair. Keeping her face neutral as to not reveal anything to either party, she answers the question that was posed to her.  
  


“I can’t say I have. Have you?” Lexa shakes her head, taking one of Finn’s hands in hers. She uses the pliers to firmly grip onto the nail of his index finger. He tries to resist but the iron grip she has on him has made it impossible to withstand her hold on him.  
  


“Where is my money, Finn?” She asks while maintaining both her grip on his fingernail and her harsh stare. He panics and stutters; only able to release a jumbled string of what sounded like pleas to not do whatever is she intends to. Ignoring him and paying no mind to his pleading she viscously pulls the pliers, ripping out his fingernail. Blood begins to pour out of his index finger as his screams echo off the walls of the empty building. Lexa loosens her grip on the pliers, allowing the bloodied nail to fall to the ground before taking hold the nail on his middle finger.  
  


“Do you know what collateral is? Collateral: Anything of value pledged to a lender until a loan is repaid. It can be seized if the loan is not paid. Do you have anything worth the amount of money you borrowed because if not, you’re going to be losing a lot more than fingernails.” Finn knew that the threat was very serious and very real. He tried to block out the pain he was feeling from his mangled hand as he scrambled to think of something, anything that was worth some money. He felt the beginnings of her pulling his nail when it came to him.  
  


“Wait! Wait! Please, I-i got a girl and she has this place downtown. Its pretty shitty, I mean it doesn’t even have name but, you can use it. To wash your money; you can jack up the renovation and purchasing costs and recoup it after its been cleaned, right?” He looks frantically from the woman in front of him to the other terrifying woman standing behind her sister in solidarity.   
  


Lexa takes a moment to ponder what he’s offered. It’s not a bad idea and she knows the easiest way to launder money is through construction costs. She slowly starts to loosen her grip on the pliers causing the man to sigh in relief, giving him the impression that he has managed to keep the rest of his nails before using her all her strength to rip it. All traces of relief vanish from the slimy man as he screams bloody murder and squirms about in the chair. Blood oozes out of his damaged fingers as though it might never stop bleeding. Lexa quickly tosses the pliers on the table moves stand. She speaks rapidly in Trigedsleng to Anya telling her to wrap his hand up, they have a store to visit.  
  


* * *

It had been a week since she saw a man die. It had been a week since she saw the person responsible for it. The forest green eyes find their way into her dreams every night. When her eyes roll back in her sleep she can’t help but see the man splattered onto the concrete etched into her skull. It baffled her how eyes that beautiful could belong to someone so cold, to a murderer. She had spent hours, days thinking about it. Her only reprieve being the shop and whatever drawing or arrangement she was working on at the moment. Right now she was working on an arrangement; trying to figure what exactly was missing from it. It seemed as though the only thing she could do to distract herself from the thoughts swirling in her head was to throw herself into work. At least that would be productive as opposed to thinking about what had transpired a week ago. Drumming up business and getting out of debt is what the young florist needs to focus on especially now that she has her first customer of the…well, ever.  
  


The sound of the bell above the door ringing was a much welcomed interruption. It signified a customer, a chance to make this work and get her shop up and running. Clarke put aside her arrangement and gave herself a once-over, making sure she looked put together in an attempt to impress whoever it is that just walked into her store. Planting the biggest smile she can muster on her face, she greets the new patron whilst rounding the counter she was sat behind.  
  


“Hi, welcome to…well, there’s no name yet but, welcome anyway” she tried to hide her embarrassment at the acknowledgment of her business lacking such an integral part. Glancing up to inspect the customer she saw it was a woman most likely of asian decent with the sharpest cheekbones she’d ever seen. So sharp they could probably cut someone. Her hair was a dark blonde; it created an interesting contrast between her skin tone and the dark, charcoal color of her tailored suit. The woman smiled back at the florist. A kind of smile reminiscent of a Cheshire Cat. Attractive —beautiful even but, dangerous nonetheless.  
  


“No name? Thats something we’ll have to fix, isn’t it Finn?” She asks, turning to the side to reveal a very guilty looking Finn Collins. He kept his head tilted down, chin resting against his chest so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with the young store owner. Did Clarke Griffin know Finn Collins? About a month or so ago they had shared a night together when she had first moved to the city. Her parents had recently died and she had uprooted her whole life to chase a seemingly impossible dream. She was lonely and drunk and when she had met him at the bar he seemed nice enough — mainly because he kept buying her drinks. It wasn’t a very memorable night by any means but, its hard to forget a guy when he comes by your store every other day to try and ask you out. So yes, Clarke knew Finn but, what she didn’t know was what he was doing here and why he looked worse for wear and why this woman thought she had any say in _her_ business.   
  


“Finn? What-what are you doing here? What is she talking about?” Clarke probed while taking a defensive stance; arms crossed and legs shoulder length apart. Anya couldn’t help the devious smile that stretched across her face at the prospect of spilling the news to the blonde. The older woman begins to take possessive steps around the store; eyes trailing over the rows and rows of plants lining the store. Several pieces of artwork that hung on the wall behind the checkout counter caught the woman’s eye.   
  


“You have some nice pieces in here. Too bad they’ll have to go. What do you think Finn? I mean this is your girl’s store after all.” Clarke’s eyes widen at hearing that. She is by no means Finn Collin’s girl and almost makes her want to puke at the thought of it. Everything was becoming too overwhelming for the florist. She had to get to the bottom of this before she had a panic attack.  
  


“What are you talking about? I am not his girl and you have no right to just waltz in here like you own the place!” Anya was surprised the woman was brave enough to speak to her like that but, it still distract her from the reason they were here.  
  


“Well, technically I do own this place. See, your boyfriend sold you out to save his own skin. He took money from my family and hasn’t paid his dues so he told us we could have this place. Isn’t that right, Finn?” Grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck and pulling him forward and forcing him to look at the woman he’d crossed in an act of cowardice.  
  


“Clarke, I am so sorry. It’s not what you th-” the ringing of the same bell from earlier cuts him off mid groveling. She glances past the two individuals in front of her to see who had just entered the store. When those cerulean blues meet those familiar forest greens she is overwhelmed. There, before her, in another perfectly tailored suit stood the same woman who had inhabited her mind for a week. Her heart was racing and her emotions were so intertwined that she couldn’t decipher whether she was feeling rage or excitement at the prospect of seeing the jade eyed beauty. The brunette moves steadily forward towards Clarke before pausing to speak in a language the young woman had never heard. The more frightening of the two women grabs Finn and makes a quick exit; leaving Clarke alone to deal with the newest player in this fucked up game.  
  


“My name is Lexa Woods and I-”  
  


“Get out.”  
  


“You and I both know I can’t do that. I am truly sorry that you’ve found yourself wrapped up in all of this.” She doesn’t know whether to believe the woman. Clarke tilts her head back and shakes it slightly; trying to get her emotions in control. The florist refuses to cry in front of this poor excuse for a person. Clarke Griffin will not give Lexa Woods the satisfaction of seeing her cry.   
  


“I know who you are; who your family is and the things you do. I watch the news. I know what goes on. For fuck’s sake, I saw it with my own two eyes!”  
  


“I appreciate the fact that you didn’t say anything.” Lexa was being honest. Most people either jump at the opportunity to try and turn her in or use whatever they’ve seen or heard as blackmail. She couldn’t help the odd sense of pride that swelled in her chest at the fact that the gorgeous blonde hadn’t tried to rat her out. It made it all that much harder to do what she had to now.  
  


“We, my family and I, own your store now and will be using it to launder money we’ve acquired through our own businesses.” Lexa watches the rage bubble up in the blonde’s features. The way her brows furrowed creating a small crease between them might have been considered endearing or even cute in different circumstances.  
  


“So, this is what I get, huh? I keep my mouth shut. I don’t say anything about what I saw and trust me, I remember very clearly what happened. And now, you just walk in here and tell me that some piece of shit guy that I had drunk sex with months ago sells my store — which he has no rights to — out from under me to some kind of…criminal. Great. Just fucking great.” Clarke was borderline hysterical at this point. Her dream was once again out of reach and this time she wasn’t sure she’d ever get the chance to make it come true.  
  


Lexa inspected the woman before her. She was strong, stubborn even, but she was also extremely passionate. Not many people found the nerve to speak their mind around _Heda_ and Lexa had to admit, it broke her heart to see those fat tears roll down the ivory skin of the woman’s cheeks. She truly did feel bad that Finn had fucked this woman over but, it was too good of a business proposal to give it up. She knew that her business dealings tended to involve and attract a shadier group of individuals and that this poor woman was most likely saddened at the idea of losing her shop to these people and their less than legal activities. Taking a deep breath to keep her own emotions in check, she tries to comfort Clarke as best she can.  
  


“I know you’re scared but this won’t last forever. A couple of months, long enough to clean the money and earn it all back plus any interest and we’ll be out of your hair. We only skim our profits off the top; you keep everything else. And if it’s the other families you’re scared of…I promise not to let any of them hurt you.” Clarke angrily wipes the tears from her face and sniffles before asking an honest question.  
  


“Why?”  
  


“They’re all afraid of me.”  
  


“If that’s true; if you’re some how in charge of them and they’re all scared of you, why don’t you kill me yourself? I mean wouldn’t that be the smartest decision. That’d be the best way to make sure I never talk, right?” Lexa can’t truly describe the feeling she felt when the florist suggested Lexa kill her. It was something akin to…anger. Anger at the simple thought of someone, anyone, bringing harm to the beautiful woman lit a fire in the brunette. One that she felt in her whole body. Finger tips burning to punish anyone who dare lay a finger on the owner of the blue eyes she had come to admire so much.  
  


“I would never hurt you, Clarke. This city can be quite ugly and I know that I play a large roll in that but you, you opened a flower shop right in the middle of all the ugliness. You strive to bring beauty to such a dark place. I admire people like you…plus, I would never hurt a pretty girl.” Turning sharply on the heel of her expensive Oxford shoes Lexa begins to make her way out of the store. She stops briefly to look at the flower arrangement Clarke had been working on before. Studying it and all its intricacies before muttering a quick: _‘have you thought about using orchids? Do you know they represent love? Just a thought’_ , and continuing on her path out of the store.


	3. Chapter 3

The room stunk of sex; the smell coated the walls and remained in the air for all to inhale upon entrance of the cheap motel room. The two individuals responsible for it paid no mind as they were comforted by the sounds of hushed breaths reverberating around the room. The women were so wrapped up in one another that their forms almost seemed to meld into one. Limbs intertwining with limbs; tan skin pressed to tan skin as the older woman continues to lap away at the woman’s sex before her. Spurred on by the occasional exclamations of ecstasy.  


“Fuck Anya. _Mmmm_ you feel so good. You’re so good at this, baby” the words of encouragement are quickly replaced by breathy moans as Anya continues to work the woman beneath her closer to her climax. 

 

It was always hard for Anya to resist the Latina but, it became especially difficult when she was spread before her like this. Golden thighs incasing her face, hands gripping her thick, blonde hair as the woman’s back arches, presenting herself like some kind of delicious meal that Anya would no doubt love to spend the rest of her life tasting.  
  


She can feel the hands which have a white-knuckle grip on her hair tighten even more — if that’s possible — letting her know that the sexy vixen below her would soon be reaching her tipping point. She continued her ministrations; dutifully swiping her tongue through the wet folds before her as she pumps two long fingers in and out of the Latin beauty. Curling her fingers occasionally until it happens; the caramel thighs surrounding her squeeze, drawing her impossibly closer and causing her nose to burry itself further into the woman’s sex all in time for her juices to rush out. Anya eagerly opens her mouth awaiting the flood of sweetness. Sometimes the Latina tastes so sweet Anya thinks she might find herself with a few cavities after indulging in their preferred x-rated hobby. With her chin covered in the woman’s release, she begins to make her way back up the toned body until she reaches the familiar set of plump lips she’s come to know quite intimately.  
  


They lock eyes before sharing a heated kiss. Anya pushes her tongue into the other woman’s mouth so she can taste herself before rolling off of her. Glancing to the side, she watches as the woman’s bare chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. Anya can’t help but place a soft kiss on the woman’s cheek when she notices the light pink tinge its acquired. The rare, tender action from the usually harsh and stoic woman causes the Latina to smile. Rolling onto her side so they were face to face, she speaks softly while she strokes her thumb over the sharp cheekbones that were just recently between her legs.  
  


“This is nice. Being with you is nice. I like being able to take a break from everything, from life.”  
  


“We could be like this all the time…we could be together” nervousness laced Anya’s voice as she gazed into familiar chocolate eyes. The same eyes that have broken her heart so many times she’s lost count but, she always finds her way back to them. She always finds her way back into bed with the owner of the sad eyes.  
  


“Anya, you know we can’t. Between your ‘work’ and mine, and not to mention Kyle, I just-”  
  


“Oh, that’s right! How could I forget about your piece of shit boyfriend? I mean seriously Raven, how can you be with someone like him? All he does is sit on his ass and drink all day while you’re at work busting yours, trying to keep a roof over his ungrateful head.” Anya knew of Kyle Wick to say the least. She knew that he was an unemployed drunk. She knew that he’d asked her and her siblings multiple times for a job working as a low-level _gona_. She’d sooner shoot herself in the fucking head than offer that low-life a job. And maybe that had something to do with the fact that he was dating _her_ girl, that he got to come home to her and sleep in the same bed as her while Anya meandered through life aimlessly; sleeping in different women’s beds every night or alone in her own.  
  


“Please, Anya. You don’t want to be with me, alright. You think you do because of the things we do together, because of the sex, but you don’t. Don’t waste your time on some waitress with a fucked up leg when you could have any girl in this city, okay?” Raven was trying, she really was, to make the woman see that she had options and she shouldn’t waste her time on someone as broken as herself. But, Anya was stubborn — a fact the Latina usually found endearing but in this moment, rather annoying.  
  


“But…I love you.” The sound of Anya’s voice cracking as she muttered those words felt like someone had taken a knife and plunged it straight through Raven’s heart and then twisted it for good measure. She knew how hard it was for someone like Anya to admit that and she knew how much she was bound to hurt her as she slowly tore herself away from the warm body next to her and began to get ready to leave. Anya watched intently as she scanned the room for her leg brace and clothes. All of which had been strewn out all over the small room in the haze of their very explicit rendezvous. Raven slid into her jeans, disregarding the now torn panties she had been wearing earlier in the day and sat on the edge of the bed in preparation to put her brace on. It was almost as if she could feel the anger and hurt bubbling up in the woman laying behind her. So she wasn’t surprised when she heard Anya angrily say:  
  


“So, thats it? You’re just going to ignore what I said and go?”  
  


“Anya, stop please. I-I don’t have time for this right now, okay? I have to get to work soon”  
  


“No, it’s not okay. You have no problem meeting up and letting me fuck you into oblivion but as soon as I tell you how I feel you want to bolt.” The barely concealed rage was so very evident in her voice. Raven knew it was a combination of both hurt and embarrassment and she felt horrible that she was responsible for her pain and suffering but, she had no choice. Forcing the tears in her eyes to stay at bay and without turning back to look at the woman, she replied:  
  


“What do you want from me, Anya? It’s not that simple. I can’t just up and leave him” feeling the bed shift behind her, the Latina prepared herself for some kind of rage fueled outburst but was surprised to see the older woman resting on her bare knees, in front of her. To onlookers, it might seem as though the position Anya had taken was one of prayer and Raven was the deity she was promising her life to. They hold eye contact with one another for several moments, each trying to sway one another to see their side. Anya is the first to break. Now, trying to keep her own emotions in check, she softly lays her head on Raven’s lap before asking — begging really:  
  


 “I could take care of you, y’know. Could you just think about it? Could you just think about leaving him…think about loving me?” Raven swallows the lump in her throat and threads her fingers through golden locks as a stray tear rolls down her face, finding purchase somewhere amongst the crumpled sheets around her.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” And with a final nod of her head, Anya manages to make Raven feel like her whole chest is caving in.    
“I understand…I couldn’t love someone like me either”  
  


* * *

The bell above the door dings around midday but, Clarke doesn’t bother to look up from her sketchbook to whoever this potential customer may be. At this point, she’s grown so accustomed to not liking whoever has walked through the door that she finds no point in putting on her happy storeowner facade. She hears footsteps approaching the counter she’s sat behind but, continues to play dumb like she hasn’t noticed their presence. It’s not until she hears the individual clear their throat and finally speak up does she glance upward. Blue meets green; sky meets earth; cerulean meets jade. Every time the young florist sees those mysterious eyes it feels like the force of gravity has intensified tenfold causing the light around her to bend with it.

 

“I um…I brought you a gift as a kind of apology for…all _this_ ” green eyes shift nervously between blue ones. The older woman stands with her feet firmly planted shoulder length apart with her arms behind her back in a still very dominant stance despite her nervousness. Clarke is shocked to say the least.  
  


“A gift? What do I owe you now, my first born?” Lexa couldn’t help the twitch of her lip at the hearing the snide remark. Moving closer to the counter, Lexa uncrosses her arms from behind her and places the aforementioned gift in front of the blonde.  
  


“Whiskey?” The storeowner asks with wide eyes.  
  


“I would’ve gotten you flowers but, that seemed kind of redundant.” 

Clarke moves to take the bottle from the tan hands of the woman before her. Their fingers just barley grazing one another; sending shocks through their bodies.  She holds the glass bottle up and closely inspects it while trying to disguise her own smile. She can tell it’s expensive and it would be ignorant of her to expect any less from a Woods, from _Heda_. If she wasn’t so sure Lexa had ulterior motives for being here she might have even thought the act of generosity was cute.  
  


 “Well, thank you um…for the gift but, I find it hard to believe thats all you’re here for.” Lexa nods her head in understanding before replying:  
  


“You’re not wrong. We have to start preparing for the renovations. Figure out what exactly we’re going to do so I can start cleaning the money.”  
  


“I always imagined one day i’d be able to renovate my store. I never thought it would be like this. I never thought it’d be through some shady business deal with a mob boss. I thought it would’ve been through my own hard work but, I guess not” she says solemnly. She shrugs as she maintains eye contact with Lexa in attempts to show that she’s not pleased with the situation and most likely never will be but, she was in it for the long haul, she was here to stay.  
  


“Can I ask you what inspired you to open a flower shop?” Curiosity flickered behind emerald eyes as she asks the question. The blonde can’t help the smile that crosses her face when she truly remembers what birthed her love of flowers.  
  


“My father, he would bring my mother bouquets of flowers everyday after work. He must’ve spent thousands over the years but, it was worth it. We would have flowers everywhere in the house because of it. They lined tables, chests, and steps. They were in every single room. When they passed I decided that was it; no more waiting. I had to open the shop for myself, for them.” Lexa moves to cover the pale hand resting on the counter with her own tan one in an act of solidarity. The motion surprises the blonde but she doesn’t remove her hand from the offered comfort. In fact, she revels in the unbiased support.  
  


“I’m sorry for your loss, Clarke.”  
  


“Thank you. How did you know orchids represent love?” Taking a deep breath Lexa prepares herself to reveal part of her own past as it only seems fair. The brunette doesn’t know why she feels like she can trust Clarke enough to tell her. Maybe it’s the fact that Clarke had just shared her own personal experience or maybe it was because Lexa desperately wanted to connect with the blonde and if doling out fragments of her childhood was the way to do it then she would. Clearing her throat she begins to share her story.

 

“My father was rather harsh on my siblings and I but, he had to be. We’re Woods, we’re Trikru, it’s a part of our heritage and he was training us to take over for him one day. But, my mother never really saw the point in forcing her children to grow up so fast so, she tried to protect us, keep us as innocent as she could” Lexa pauses, reminiscing over all the times she had been forced to fight her siblings until one or both of them were bloody and broken. The sound of her father’s voice yelling at her to keep going, to push through, to not let Anya kick her ass, to hit Lincoln harder, echoed in her skull. To this day her eyes are still sore from all of the transcribing her father had forced her to do as part if her lessons; claiming that was the only way she’d learn how to speak and read _Trigedasleng_.  
  


Most of all she remembers the soft ebony hands of her mother wiping away tears from her youthful, little cheeks after a particularly difficult training session. She remembers watching her mother hold a then barely ten year old Anya in her arms as she rocked back and forth while singing an old Trikru song into her little ear after their father had yelled at her that she would never become _Heda_. The memories of a younger and far less muscular Lincoln receiving his first driving lesson from the kind-hearted woman flashes across her brain. If she listens close enough she can almost hear her mother yelling from the back seat — she’d refuse to sit in the front stating that she’d have panic attack if she did so — to slow down. If it hadn’t have been for her mother’s reassuring, gentle touches that balanced out the cold, calculating ones of her father, Lexa is positive that she would not be around today.  
  


“She would walk in the gardens around the estate with us after our lessons. There, she would show us all of her favorite flowers and tell us what each one meant. Anya and Lincoln were never really into it. Always ready to get back to training so they could impress our father but, I enjoyed it.”  Finishing her story, Lexa feels as though a weight that had been crushing her for decades had finally been lifted by just sharing this one detail with the innocent florist. The brunette had no idea how easy it would be to share such an integral part of herself and her childhood with Clarke and she would forever be grateful for the fact that when she looked over at the blonde she saw no trace of pity, only understanding.  
  


Clarke smiles softly at the woman before her and squeezes her hand slightly in a show of support before speaking once more.  
  


“She sounds lovely. What’s her name?”  
  


“Indra. Her name is Indra and if she knew that I have caused you as much trouble as I have recently, I would never hear the end of it” Lexa says as she grins and the blonde releases a low chuckle. A few, surprisingly comfortable, moments of silence fall between the two before the tune of Lexa’s phone ringing fills the space around them. Lexa reluctantly removes her hand from Clarke’s, apologizing whilst she reaches to answer the phone.  
  


“Hello…uh huh. Alright, i’ll be there soon.” All traces of peace that were present in the older woman’s stature vanish immediately after receiving whatever piece of news that was. Her shoulders stiffen and her jaw tightens. She slides her phone back into the pocket of her fitted trousers before tossing an apologetic look towards Clarke followed by a curt, “We have to go”.  
  


“Where to?” The florist asks as she rounds the counter trying to keep up with the fast paced woman.  
  


“To pick my sister up from jail.”  
  


* * *

Lexa moves quickly and fiercely through the police station. Her footsteps heavy on the concrete floors. It’s an odd sensation being known for being involved in criminal activities and walking through a police station while those who are trained to shoot you on sight watch you like a bunch vultures. Each and every one of them eagerly awaiting the day they can take her and her family down and be deemed the new hero amongst all of Polis PD. Lexa continues on her trek finally, coming to a stop in front of officer John Murphy’s desk.  
  


The Woods had acquired somewhat of an informant in Murphy. They’d never had problems with him in the past. He usually turned a blind eye to them and whatever they were up to if their paths crossed which was one of the main reasons they had agreed to lend him money a year ago. Murphy had approached Lexa as a last resort when his wife, Emori, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She had no qualms about simply gifting the man the money to pay for her treatment but, he had been adamant that he could not accept that. From then on he’s helped the family when it came to informing them about the going-ons of the other families, and he was always good for… _misplacing_ evidence. It’d been three months now since Emori had been declared cancer free and Lexa can confidently say she’s gained a friend in both Murphy and his wife.  
  


The man rises to his feet and gives her a terse nod before leading her back to the holding cell where they were keeping her sister.  
  


“I was driving around on patrol when I spotted her getting into it with a couple guys in an alleyway. I hit the sirens and they all took off but, she was plastered. I’m surprised she could even stand, let alone fight but, I picked her up and brought her back here to sleep it off. Figured I’d call you before I had to charge her with anything.”  
  


They come to a stop in front of the small cell. Glancing in she could see her sister asleep on the dingy bed, using her old, leather jacket as a pillow. Lexa could see her clothes were disheveled — a clear sign her sister had been drunk and the bloody, mangled skin on her knuckles let her know her sister had, in fact, been fighting. Murphy unlocks the sliding, cell door. The only noise around them was the creak of the door as it moved and her sister’s labored breathing. She gives John an appreciative pat on the back and simple, _thanks Murphy_ , before entering the cell like an animal readying itself to attack its prey. With every soft snore Anya releases the angrier her little sister grows. She moves swiftly to the bed, snatching the jacket from underneath her sister’s resting head and kicking the bed she lay on for good measure.  
  


“Wake up, asshole!” She shouts at Anya as the older woman slowly rouses from her drunken stupor.  
  


“Jesus, what’s your fucking problem?”  
  


“What’s my problem? My problem is that I had come all the way down to the police station to pick up my big sister from jail because she got herself arrested in the middle of the day like a fucking idiot.”  
  


Anya rises angrily at the harsh words; stalking forward until Lexa’s back hits the brick wall behind her. Both now standing face to face willing themselves to not attack one another. They love each other, truly they do but, running a business like their’s often put a strain on their relationship. Trying to balance the responsibilities pushed onto them and maintaining a healthy family was rather challenging. Most times they could spar and get out any frustrations they had by beating each other to a bloody mess. That’s what they were taught to do as kids, anyway.    
  


“Watch your mouth, Lexa”  
  


“Y’know, you’re lucky I was the one to come and get you and not _Nomon_. We have a business to run, Anya, and you want to just piss it all away”  
  


“Fuck you”  
  


“Yeah, well, fuck you too. Get your shit, we’re leaving” tossing Anya’s jacket back at her chest with all the force she could muster in the small space, Lexa turns sharply on heel before exiting the room. The two march in tandem through the building. The way they move as one with their lean, muscular bodies draws the attention of many wherever they go and the station is no exception. If you didn’t know that they were the leaders of an insanely powerful crime family, you might think they were models. What with Lexa in her finely tailored Armani suit and gold-faced watch to match and Anya in a more relaxed ripped jean-t-shirt combo with her leather jacket to compliment. The sisters were hot and they damn sure knew it.  
  


They continue their faux catwalk strut out to the parking lot where Lexa had left the young florist waiting in the blacked out Range Rover. She tosses a, get in the back, over her shoulder at Anya before sliding into the drivers seat. Anya begrudgingly does as asked of her but not without question.  
  


“What’s blondie doing here?”  
  


“We have business to attend to.”  


	4. Chapter 4

_Its midday when the dark-skinned mother finds herself floating through the ornate halls of the large estate. Pictures of ancestors line the wall. They’re eyes following you wherever you travel; making it hard to ever truly feel alone. It was the only thing she could do at the moment to distract herself from what her husband was currently forcing her children to do. Lessons are what he calls them. He says he’s teaching them to be strong, to be leaders. He used to be a gentle man who man who used his suave personality to whoo her and everyone around him but now, now he was viscous. When she thinks about it she is unable to pinpoint what triggered this harsh change in him. She knows that he’s preparing them for the harsh future ahead of them. That he’s training them to become Heda but, they are children. They are her children._  
__  


_Indra Woods is many things. A wife, a business woman, a philanthropist but, her most important and beloved role was being a mother to her three children. Her love for each of them swells up and fills her heart so much that it spills over and runs through every vein in her body. Somedays she can feel her whole body simply vibrate with love when she catches sight of those innocent eyes and small hands. There is nothing she would not do for her children. Each one is different from the one before them. Lincoln — her little dreamer — is an artist through and through. There’s not a moment where that boy doesn’t have his head in the clouds. It often frustrates her husband that their son can never grant training as much attention as he does his art but, Indra finds it endearing and completely and totally Lincoln. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of notebooks she’s found around the house that have been filled to the brim with sketches of all kinds. Her son is a confident young man and is always seeking out what life has to offer. He has an old soul is the softer of the siblings; something that Indra hopes he maintains when he grows up._ _  
_

_Alexandria, however, is destined to be Heda. There is no doubt about it. It seems to be written in the stars. She is pragmatic but gentle; the perfect combination of traits for a leader to posses. She too is confident but, always willing to learn and expand her mind. She is often looked at as the leader of the rag tag group of siblings who seem to find themselves in trouble more times than not. She is certain her husband must see their daughter’s potential in spite of the fact he lives like a vault; never sharing whether or not he’s truly proud of the three. Perhaps it was some kind of strategy to keep them hanging on, to keep them coming back everyday, motivated to be the best warrior they can be._  
The ebony woman takes no pride in knowing that her husband has her children hold up in a room somewhere right now most likely beating one another senseless at the moment. If his job was to prepare them to be Heda, then her job was to keep them innocent.  
  


_Her thinking is cut short by the quietest, most heartbreaking noise she’s ever heard — the sound of one of her children crying. Continuing her powerful strides through the labyrinth of a house, she rounds the corner and it feels like someone has hit her in the chest with a pound of bricks. There, tucked into the corner of the wall with her legs pulled up to her chest and her head buried in her arms sat Anya. Her middle and most sensitive child — though, Anya would deny that — was firmly planted on the floor, body balled up as to ward off all the evil around her. She is ten years old and all elbows and knees and sun kissed freckles. Destined to grow from an adorable, lanky kid to a beautiful, lean woman someday._   
  


_Indra moves slowly and cautiously towards the young girl. Each step is taken with so much care as if she was a soldier trying to cross a field laced with landmines. One wrong step and she fears her daughter might implode; sinking into herself and ignoring any and everything pertaining to the outside world. She crouches down so that she is at eye level with the tan skinned girl. A chocolate hand reaches out and lightly wraps around a small, bronze arm; moving it so that she can see that beautiful face that is now tinged pink with angry tears rolling down sharp cheekbones._   
  


_“What is wrong, my little warrior?” Her warm motherly voice asks to the distraught girl before her._   
  


_Receiving no answer, Indra moves to take a seat and pulls Anya into her lap. She begins to run a consoling hand over the small back of her daughter while rocking back and forth and reciting the lyrics to an old Trikru song. Something about birds and trees, rivers and streams. Indra’s mother sang it to her and now she sings it to her children. She sang it when they were babies in need of encouragement to sleep through the night. When they were six years old with a scraped knee acquired from falling off their bike. She doesn’t know why she’s singing it now but, she would sing until she lost her voice if it meant it would make her child happy again. The timbre of the mother’s voice reverberating in the small ear resting near her mouth soothes her weary soul and brings her tears to a momentary stop. Now, surrounded by nothing but silence, save for the occasional sniffle, they continue to rock. The back and forth motion acts as some kind of barrier or force field, protecting the duo from all the cruelness that lives inside their home._   
  


_“He said I’d never be heda”_   
  


_Of course it all comes back to that. To this unrealistic competition between the children of who is the best, who can run the fastest, hit the hardest, who will be Heda. As a mother it is heartbreaking to watch this destroy her child. Anya, unlike Lincoln, is simply unable to separate herself from the idea of Heda. She has no identity outside of Heda. She has had it drilled into her since the time she could walk that one of them would become Heda and that it needed to be her because if it wasn’t that meant she was weak. He knows he has this hold over her and consistently puts her down with hurtful words and heavy hands; all the while knowing it won’t deter her. That it’ll only make her colder and she will undoubtedly continue to come back to their lessons day after day because no matter what, she is intent on getting his approval. It’s a testament to how loyal she is and to how barbarous her father is._   
  


_“Would that be so bad…if you weren’t Heda?” Feeling the girl stir in her lap, she glances down and is met by wide, honey brown eyes staring at her like what she has just muttered is the most preposterous thing to ever be asked. Eyes full of innocence but, if you looked closely you can see that they’re tinged with something akin to sadness. Something only a child forced to grow up too fast would have attained._   
  


_“If I’m not Heda then…what am I?” The crack in little voice is matched by an identical one in the older woman’s heart. The crack runs deep causing her heart to break open and ache._   
  


_“You are my baby. You are a great sister and fiercely loyal. You are my little warrior and most importantly, you are Anya. Never forget that.” They hold eye contact. Indra trying to convey all her feelings in the strong stare and Anya straining to believe all of it._   
  


_Their wordless conversation comes to an end when she feels those golden arms encircle her in an embrace. Anya buries her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and she voices a question that has plagued her for as long as she can remember:_   
  


_“Is he mean to you too?”_   
  


_“…Sometimes” tightening her grip Anya makes a promise that she pledges to keep for the rest of her life._   
  


_“I’ll protect you.”_

* * *

“Okay, so we have business to attend to but, that still doesn’t clarify why she’s here” Anya replies as abrasive as ever whilst gesturing to the blonde sat in front of her. Turning pointedly in her seat so she may clearly see the woman behind her Clarke answers:  
  


“Oh, I don’t know asshole, maybe because you’re using _my_ shop to carry out your ‘mob business’”  
  


“It’s not my fucking fault that your boyfriend sold you down the river, princess” the bite of Anya’s words — ever present — surprisingly didn’t faze the florist as she continues to argue with her. Lexa struggles to keep her eyes on the road as the two of them bicker back and forth. If she was being honest, she found the whole scenario rather amusing, especially Clarke’s witty remarks back to her sister. She’d never met anyone who could take what Anya dealt them and give it right back, tenfold.   
  


The argument comes to a quick close when the blonde turns back around and lazily tosses a where are we going to Lexa.  
  


“The Dropship. It’s an old diner on the outskirts of town.” Hearing the name of their destination slide off her sisters tongue causes Anya to accidentally release an expletive in response. If the young woman in front of her even heard it, she surely makes no mention of it and for once Anya is grateful.   
  


Clarke shines a confused look over to Lexa before asking why they’re going to a diner. It seems to her that if you’re some kind of mafia leader that a public diner wouldn’t be the best place to conduct less than legal activity. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel and casting a sharp glance back at Anya via the rearview mirror Lexa responds:  
  


“Since we had to pick someone up from jail in the middle of the day, I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a couple more eyes on us now. It’s smarter to go somewhere that’s out in public; makes us seem less suspicious.” Lexa casts one last fleeting look to the woman rooted beside her as a soft smile spreads across her face with the muttering of her last words:  
  


“They also have really good pie.”

* * *

The smell of grease laden food and endless chatter fill the confines of the small diner. The bright sun shines through the old window panes casting a lazy orange glow on the white, tile floor. Raven stands behind the counter trying her hardest to ignore the steady throbbing in her leg as she wipes down the worn counter. Waitressing probably wasn’t the best job for someone like her but, it pays the bills. It’ll get better when Kyle gets a job so, for now she’ll shoulder the burden and hope it pays off in the long run.   
  


But of course whenever she thinks of Kyle she inevitably thinks of Anya. Anya, who’s heart has been broken by Raven so many times that the Latina swears she might lose count soon. The guilt of the whole situation ways heavy on her conscience and makes her heart ache so much she fears it might just split in half. It’s not like she doesn’t ever think about leaving Wick but, to do that would mean coming clean about her and Anya, coming clean about being a cheater — something she’d never imagined she would be. She truly can’t even fathom what he might do if he found out. So, instead of thinking about impossible futures she works and she cleans. She scrubs the countertops hard enough to erase twenty years of grime. She scrubs until the throb of her leg meshes with the burn of her shoulder. She scrubs until the sound of someone flagging her down filters into her ear.  
  


Placing the rag under the counter she looks up and internally groans when she notices its one of her usuals. She takes a deep breath in and braces herself for the onslaught of overtly sexual statements sure to come her way as soon as she approaches the table full of men. Each off-kilter step sends a dull throb through her whole leg causing her balance to be worse than it already is. The statement is further proven when she reaches the table and is immediately pulled into the lap of one of the men sitting there. His warm breath in her ear and feeling of his semi-hard member makes her skin crawl and bile rise in her throat. Worst of all is his calloused hand that tries to snake its way up her skirt. The light blue fabric of her uniform crinkles uncomfortably with each and every attempt he makes. All wandering hands are met with a solid push back from her own smaller ones as she maintains her fake smile and composure; pretending that she doesn’t want to throw up on sight.  
  


After dodging all romantic and sexual advances from the men she is finally able to deduce what they actually want. She manages to wrestle herself out of the man’s strong grip and leave them with another counterfeit smile and an _I’ll be right out with that_. The Latina smoothly navigates her way through the restaurant; stopping to let another unfortunate waitress know that table eight wants refills and that she’s going on break before she loses her mind.  
  


Raven makes her great escape out of the back door and is instantly hit by a rush of cool wind. Inhaling the fresh air, she moves to rest her back against the brick wall of the diner. She takes in her surroundings which doesn’t include very much. A couple buildings including a dry cleaners and a rundown car wash reside near the diner; giving the patrons and staff quite the view. It feels as though her mind is running a mile a minute. She struggles to compute every detail of what has transpired today. From leaving a passed out Kyle on the living room couch so she could sneak out in the early morning hours to meet up with Anya at some sketchy motel; to dealing with obnoxious, entitled men at work. It has been a whirlwind to say the least. The cramping sensation in her leg only intensifies with every hour she’s on her feet and she struggles to ignore the pain. She takes solace in the fact she’s offered a distraction when she hears tires crunching as a vehicle enters the parking lot.   
  


The vehicle — a blacked out Range Rover — comes to a halt as the driver’s side door swings open revealing, of all people, Lexa Woods. Despite her being Heda, Raven’s never been particularly afraid of Lexa and perhaps that had something to do with the young woman’s relationship to Anya. However, that does not mean she would ever chance being disrespectful to the youngest Woods sibling and risk her life. She’s seen what happens to people who simply look at the Trikru the wrong way and she wants no part of that. The Latina keeps her eyes trained on the sharply dressed business woman as she crosses in front of the SUV, over to the passengers side. She opens the door and someone Raven has never seen steps out. She’s blonde, short —probably 5’3’’, 5’4’’. She’s beautiful, truly. The way her hips have a subtle but, sexy curve about them and how her chest fills out the dimensions of the shirt perfectly. The beauty mark above her upper lip reminds the waitress of young Marilyn Monroe. She also reminds Raven of the rich, white girls she went to school with. The ones who made fun of her for getting all her clothes from thrift shops. The ones who made fun of her for her skin tone and her drug addicted mother. Raven is sure this woman isn’t like that if the way Lexa looks at her is any indication. She wonders if the blonde has ever noticed the way the brunette looks at her — like she’s some kind of ethereal being. She wonders if Lexa’s even noticed the way she looks at her.   
  


The sound of a second car door opening and closing draws the waitress out of her reverie and when she turns her attention away from the mystery blonde and sees who this new arrival is she feels her heart drop straight into her gut. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her hands begin to sweat at the sight of the woman that she had spent all morning wrapped up in bed with. When her eyes land on that sharp, angular face that only a few hours ago had been between her thighs it makes her heart pound heavily in her chest. Her breath catches in her throat when those familiar honey brown eyes meet her own ember ones. The same eyes she stared into this morning as they hovered above her in bed. The same eyes she’s become so accustomed to meeting during the oddest hours of the day for quick, heat-filled trysts. Right now, it feels as though time has slowed down tremendously and every other person in the world has faded away, leaving only the two of them. Soon the feeling of guilt returns to her but this time it is accompanied by want.  
  


The want and need to see Anya weighs so heavily on her it almost feels like she’s drowning in these forbidden feelings. Anya is like some kind of drug to the Latina. Every time she promises to quit, only to fall off the wagon and back into bed with the older woman. She’s aware that it’s not fair to Kyle but, she just cant help it. She gets one taste of her and she’s hooked all over again. She watches Anya signal for the other two women to go on without her. They give her a slightly confused look but, nod anyway and drift off, toward the entrance of The Dropship. Anya makes steady, slow strides toward the young waitress. The stomping of her feet meshing with the beating of her heart; the _thump, thump, thump_ was so loud in her ears she thought she might go deaf from her own nervousness.  
  


Anya never fancied herself as someone who got nervous around women. She’s always been naturally suave and women just seem to flock to her. However, right now, standing in front of Raven, she feels as though her heart may just combust. Something about the Latina manages to make her feel like some kind of inexperienced teenager vying for her crush’s attention. And if there was one thing Anya Woods was not, it was inexperienced. The older of the two women has spent many a night tangled in the satin sheets of faceless women. Often times she used those women to distract her from the one standing before her. Perhaps, it was an outlet for the jealousy she felt whenever she saw the woman who owned her heart with a man so undeserving it lit her whole body on fire. Perhaps, it was her anger at Raven for not taking a chance on her manifesting in this need to make women scream and squirm beneath her. Whatever emotion it was motivated by, there was no doubt it was not tinged with sadness. Sadness, that everlasting feeling that seemed to coat the lining of her being and she certainly felt it crash over her in waves as she gazed into the familiar eyes before.  
  


“I’m sorry for showing up. I uh- I forgot you were working.” An obvious lie. She’d memorized every detail she’s been lucky enough to hear roll off the Latina’s tongue since they met.   
  


“It’s okay. I know I don’t have the right to say this but, for what it’s worth, I missed you.”  
  


Nodding her head in agreement, Anya replies. “You don’t have the right to say that but, I missed you too. I always miss you when you’re gone.” She slides impossibly closer to Raven and places her hands on the curve of her golden hips now currently covered in the worn blue of her uniform. In response, Raven runs her own tan hands over Anya’s broad shoulders and up her neck. Resting her hands there so she may play with baby hairs at the nape of her neck. A gesture she’s praying will distract her from the lump forming in her throat at hearing the older woman’s admission. A small, solemn smile stretches across her face as she asks, “What happened to your hands?”   
  


It was dumb, simply bullheaded of Anya to think Raven wouldn’t spot even the most minute of all details. Clearing her throat she answers:  
  


“Oh, um, I just got into it with a couple guys.” Raven knows that it’s a lie if the smell of alcohol lingering on the taller woman is any indication. The crude scent wafts out of her pores and strangles the waitress’ senses. The scent of liquor doesn’t harbor as much pain as the knowledge that she was most definitely the cause of Anya fighting. She pushes the thought to the back of her mind as she attempts to change the subject and make an admission of her own.  
  


“I do think about it, y’know. Loving you. Being with you. Tell me what it would be like.” She rests her head on Anya’s chest as she feels her long, sinewy arms wrap tightly around her.  
  


“Me and you. We just leave everything and everyone behind. Pick a place and we go. Maybe a beach somewhere we can make love all day long and fall asleep in a hammock while we watch the sun set.” The imagery Anya created with her words was amazing. Raven swore she could almost feel the warm haze of sun shining on her. She could almost smell the tropical flowers and salt from the ocean in the air around her. It made tears well in her eyes and spill over. Wet streaks adorned her chiseled cheek bones as she spoke into the quiet surrounding them.  
  


“That’s a nice dream.”  
  


“Yeah, it is.”

* * *

Inside the diner Clarke and Lexa find themselves sat at an all too familiar booth. One Lexa might even classify as her favorite. The position of the booth gave her the best view of the going-ons of the restaurant. It allowed her to keep an eye on the entrance and the window it rested by also enabled her to see her vehicle in the parking lot. The red pleather of the seats gave an occasional squeak when you moved the right way. Her favorite feature of the booth though had to be the carving in its side. If you ran your hand ever so gently across the side of the table you would be able to feel the indentions. A teenage Lexa had laid claim to the booth in the only way she knew how by carving her initials into it. 

Now, when she sits in the booth and runs her finger over the _L.W._ it reminds her of a somewhat happier and simpler time. One in which she knew the pressures of adulthood that were soon to catch up with her but, they didn’t weigh her down. Instead she was concerned with the finer things in life — girls.  
  


She watches Clarke take in her surroundings and wonders what the blonde was like as a teenager. She wonders if she would’ve fallen for her girlish charm or stuck her nose up at Lexa’s lame attempts at romance. The thought makes her smile; prompting Clarke to smile back and ask, _what?_ The brunette shakes her head muttering _nothing_ before taking a deep breath and changing the topic.  
  


“We’ve been coming here since I was a kid. After church on Sundays we would come here for lunch. My parents would split a piece cherry pie and Anya and I would split a piece of chocolate pie and Lincoln…he could eat a whole pie by himself.” Clarke can’t help the chortle that escapes her at the mention of such a precious image. A large smile crosses her face at the thought of a much younger Lexa dressed in her Sunday’s best. The florist wonders if she wore some kind of pink dress with too many ruffles to count or perhaps, a teeny, tiny suit with intricate braids woven into her hair; reminiscent of the ones she wears now as an adult. Either way, the idea of the woman across from her splitting a piece of pie with her sister pulls at the strings of her heart and she cant help but to incredulously ask:  
  


“Lexa Woods, mob boss, went to church every Sunday?”  
  


“What can I say? I have layers,” she says with grin and subtle tilt of her head.  
  


“Mmhmm, I’m sure you do.” To an outsider it might appear as though the two of them were flirting. Both women would deny it; stating they were getting to know each other better. For god’s sake they were planning to run a business together, they should know something about one another. However, neither of them could deny this subconscious draw they felt toward one another. They knew it was a dangerous line to walk but, they couldn’t help it. As they gazed at one another, green melding into blue, it felt as though the outside world was slowly fading away and they were left adrift in their own universe. That was until Anya made her presence known by throwing a move over princess in Clarke’s direction while roughly scooting into the seat beside her. They cast each other one last longing look before getting down to business.  
  


“I know I’m new to this kind of thing but, I have some ideas of what we can do to the store to fix it up.” Clarke would’ve been spurred on to continue by the delicate smile on the brunette’s face had it not of been for the scoff and over exaggerated eye roll from the woman beside her. Anya, ever the realist, was never afraid to let her opinion be known and now was no different.  
  


“Do you know how laundering money works? We invest money but, nothing ever gets fixed. It’s a scam, princess.” The weight and bite of Anya’s words tear into the very fiber of Clarke’s being. She’d never felt so stupid. She couldn’t believe she had fallen for the smooth talking criminal sat before her. But of course, how could she not? Wasn’t that the prerogative of people like her? To scam and betray and take things from the little people because they stood no chance. No amount of heartwarming childhood stories could make up for the betrayal she felt at being made a fool of. Anger rose and pulsed inside her chest as she harshly asked:  
  


“You lied to me?”   
  


Lexa scrambles to think of anything that will help her regain ground with the blonde. She can feel the guilt beginning to swallow her for the doling out of half truths. It wasn’t her intention to hurt the younger woman by any means.  
  


“No, I mean thats how it’s usually done but, we can go about it in a more legal way. Actually invest the money into the store and expanding the business and skim our profits back off the top,” she pseudo pleads with Clarke to just think about the idea. Although, the sound of her sister giving another scoff certainly isn’t helping. Nor, is the question that follows:  
  


“Do you know how long that will take us to get all our fucking money back?”  
  


“ _Empleni_ , Anya.” Anger clearly present in both women’s voices now as they stare one another down across the table. Clarke almost feels like she’s intruding on a private family matter. Her blue gaze shifts between the two siblings who’s jaws were clenched so hard she was sure they would crack their teeth if they kept on. Anya is the first at the table to speak up.  
  


“Stop pussy footing around and stick to what works”  
  


“I am _Heda_. I make the decisions.” Shaking her head Anya gives up with a resounding: “of course, how could I forget?”  
  


The hidden message in her sister’s words are not lost on her but Lexa doesn’t have time to deal with Anya’s feelings about not being in charge, about not being Heda. Her attention was focused on the young florist and making things right with her. Her and her family had stolen the woman’s store right out from under her and Lexa refused to screw her over once more. From this moment on she promises to do everything in her power to protect the woman and her business. If that meant going about things in a more legal way and facing the possibility of never recouping the entirety of her family’s drug money then so be it. This was her plan and it will work. She promises that.

* * *

After the trios odd lunch date, the sisters decide it’s about time to return Clarke to her store and take care of some other incredibly illegal business. Anya allows Clarke to ride in the front again with a warning of not getting too comfortable up there. Lexa takes the time driving to appreciate being near the blonde again. 

The ride back is quiet but, not uncomfortably so. The florist spends most of the time gazing longingly out the window. The afternoon sun painting her usually pale skin a tanner color. Moments like this Lexa wishes her hands weren’t made for violence but, instead for art. That way she would have the skill to capture the beauty resting beside her on canvas. For now, incapsulating the image in her memory will have to do. So, when she is forced to torture someone, to pull out their finger nails and eyelashes and teeth she can think back on this moment and remember how the sunlight highlighted the beauty mark belonging to the most gorgeous woman she has ever seen.  
  


The vehicle comes to a stop out side of the store and the three make their way towards the entrance when they notice the door is ajar. Anya turns back to ask if she left the door open by accident and when Clarke shakes her head the sisters both pull hand guns out of the waistband of their pants. Clarke feels her blood run cold and heartbeat quicken. Lexa kicks the door open the rest of the way and enters first followed by Anya; leaving the florist to trail behind them in her frightened state. Looking around the blonde notices the expensive bottle of whiskey is gone and the cash register drawer has been ripped out of the machine — not that there was anything to take from there. They hear a noise that sounds like it’s coming from the back of the store. They each take heavy steps, not knowing what to expect.  
  


When Lexa lays eyes on the strung out man tearing through the store searching for something, anything of value to pawn off for more dope, she feels nothing but rage coursing through her body. With his back still turned to them Lexa stalks toward him before grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and slamming him into a neighboring wall. She pushes the barrel of her gun down his throat as Anya maintains her post in front of Clarke with her own gun drawn and aimed to fire at a moments notice. His eyes widen when he realizes who’s gun is shoved in his mouth. He whimpers and shakes in fear as Lexa yells.  
  


“You’re gonna steal from her?! You’re gonna steal from me?! I ought to cut your fucking tongue out.” The seriousness of the threat causes him to shake his head and cry but, it’s no use; the noise is muffled by the gun.  
  


“You’re lucky I’m in a generous fucking mood. I’m gonna use you to send a message to all your druggie friends,” using her hand that’s not responsible for holding the gun, she grabs onto his hair and forces head to the side. She forces him to look at a petrified Clarke who has never seen this side of Lexa. She’s heard stories —hell, she’d seen someone thrown off a building but, she’d never actually seen Lexa commit the act. She doesn’t know what is worse; knowing someone is responsible for such violent, heinous acts or seeing that person commit said acts. Lexa’s voice is now even more threatening than before, she continues:  
  


“You see her? If you ever come back here, if you ever touch her, look at her, if you ever even think about her, I will know and I will slit your fucking throat. Do you understand?”  
  


The man is so terrified he cant think of anything to do besides stare at the powerful woman pinning him to the wall. This only seems to anger her more; causing her to shove the gun further down his throat. She pulls the hammer back on the gun, preparing to fire it before asking, “Do you understand me?!” When he nods his head furiously in understanding she withdraws the gun and releases the man from the wall. He slumps forward some as he tries to catch his breath so he doesn’t hyperventilate. Lexa smiles relaxingly at the man and pats his shoulder stating, “Good” before firing a shot into his knee cap. The feeling of the bullet tearing through skin, and muscle, and cartilage send him screaming to the floor and cause Clarke to gasp in her place behind Anya.   
  


Blood gushes out of the wound; coating his pants and hands. The brown of the antique, wood floors below him is now awash in a dark maroon color. His pain is so unbearable that he is unable to form words. The only thing escaping his lips is something adjacent to gurgles as he writhes in pain. Lexa looks away from him. He’s weak and it makes her furious. He doesn’t deserve to have her glare fall on him. So, instead she turns to Anya and states:  
  


“Since you want to act like an idiot and get yourself arrested, your new job is to watch her. Every day, you’re with her. Wherever she goes, you go.” Anya nods her head in understanding and moves to place her gun back into her waist band as she responds, “ _Sha, Heda_ ”. Lexa gives her own nod and sharply orders:  
  


“Clean this shit up and let’s go.”  
  


Lexa steps over the man convulsing on the ground as she moves to exit the building, not even sparing Clarke a glance as she does so. The blonde can’t take her eyes of the pool of blood that’s seemingly flooding her floors. She is trying to figure out how she got here. She is trying to calculate what exactly she did in her life to lead her to this very moment. She is asking God for forgiveness and wondering how many hail Mary’s she must do to atone for her sins. But most of all, she is wondering when she will see Lexa Woods again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave me a comment here or on my blog, clexa-mafia.tumblr.com

The sounds of fists meeting flesh and short, labored breaths fill the confines of the warehouse. Its dark save for the occasional flickering of one of the overhead lights. Anya watches on as the two figures before her continue to battle one another in war of strength and wits. Well-aimed punches and kicks were exchanged between the two as they grapple. Anya would gladly step into the ring to relieve the poor man — Ryder, it appears — but, she knows that wouldn’t be a wise decision due to the recent animosity between her and her sister. The last thing that needs to happen is for them to fight. The sisters were well matched when it came to combat and if they were to fight, it would definitely result in a few broken bones.  
  


The older woman stands with her feet shoulder-width apart and arms crossed in a power stance of sorts. She continues to watch on as her sister practically beat the shit out of the _gona_. The blonde is surprised the man’s skull hasn’t developed a permanent indentation or two from the influx of hits to his head. Straightening her posture, she takes her opportunity to speak up after Lexa slams the man onto the hard ground beneath them.  
  


“We need to talk about it, Lexa.”  
  


“About what?” The brunette asks as she continues to stalk the crumpled man before her like he was prey and she, the predator. Anya clenches her jaw in disappointment at the _gona’s_ poor skills and at the fact that her sister was too preoccupied with showing her dominance rather than actually listening to her. Perhaps that had to do with the slight sense of narcissism that comes from being _Heda_ or perhaps it was something entirely Lexa. That familiar sense of anger continues to bubble up inside of her at her sister’s inherent arrogance. The words come out harsher than she might intend but, Lexa needs to know what’s going on.  
  


“Its been two weeks and she hasn’t come out of that fucking apartment. I cant sit around and wait for blondie to get her shit together and risk this plan falling through. Floudonkru is not going to wait forever; we need to start making moves.” The severity in Anya’s voice finally causes Lexa to pay attention. The Floudonkru family takes up residence in Florida, more specifically, Miami and they’re in charge of running the drug ring down there. Trikru and Floudonkru have worked together for years. Trikru make the product and Foudonkru move it; splitting the profits from that one business venture alone is enough for both families to live off. But, of course greed plays a roll in everything. Why stop at only one steady business when you could have your hand in multiple?  
  


Lexa’s chest rises and falls rapidly with each heavy breath she takes. She dismisses the _gona_ and grants her sister her full attention as guilt begins to weigh her down as though weights were tied to each and every one of her limbs; dragging her down into the depths of her own personal hell. She knows for a fact that whatever emotional trauma Clarke is going through at the moment is undoubtedly her fault. It makes her feel like some kind of dark, violent entity causing pain and suffering everywhere she goes; killing everything in her path. 

“I’ll go by and check on her.”  
  


Anya fixes her with a harsh stare as she measures up the brunette woman in an attempt to unearth any hidden feelings or ulterior motives. Things have definitely been strained between the two since the events that occurred two weeks ago. They each feel bad for their actions and impulsivity. They’d both skirted around the topic. Neither wanting to delve into their feelings — a product of how they’d been raised. Emotion to them was a sign of weakness and although their mother had tried her damnedest to prove it wasn’t, the remnants of their father’s teachings have proven more difficult to rid themselves of than any of them would like. Admittedly, Lexa had overreacted to the whole situation. She knew for a fact that her and the rest of the Trikru family could easily weasel their way out of any charge because of their connections. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her that had caused her to snap at her sister. Maybe it was the stress of dealing with Nia and the Azgeda, or maybe it was aggravation at having her time with the young flourish cut short. 

 

“This is serious, Lexa. What if she goes to the cops?”  
  


“She won’t.” She replies firmly whilst removing the wrapping on her hand and exposing her bruising knuckles to the cool air around them. Anya stares pointedly at the brunette as if to say, how do you know?   
  


“Listen, I said I’ll deal with it so, I will. So, for the time being, why don’t you make yourself useful and teach Ryder how not to get his ass kicked…like you used to do for me when we were kids.” Clapping her hand on the blondes shoulder and pushing the wrappings into her hand, Lexa gives the tiniest of grins. It was her own version of extending an olive branch to her older sister. It was a small act of kindness and it surely won’t fix everything but, at the sight of the older woman returning her grin she knows that it’ll do for now.

* * *

It’d been two weeks since she’d stepped foot out of this damn apartment. Hell, it’d been two weeks since she’d been able to even get out of bed. Of course that hadn’t stopped Anya from banging on her door every single day. How the frightening woman found out where she lived was something the flourist wasn’t sure she truly wanted to know. But for all intents and purposes, it seems as though the older woman is thoroughly committed to her new job as Clarke’s babysitter. She doesn’t know how long this arrangement will last. She doesn’t know how many more times Anya will come by in attempts to rouse her from her depressed state. She doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.  
  


It has plagued her — infuriated her, even — for weeks now. That she can’t figure out whether or not she’s more upset by the fact she was a witness to someone getting shot or the fact that she was more intrigued with seeing the shooter again. It makes her feel dirty and disgusting. It makes her feel vile. It makes her feel evil.  
  


That’s how she found herself in the bathroom at this hour, avoiding all mirrors because she cannot stand the sight of herself or whatever creature it is that she would see staring back at her. She moves over to the tub; sitting on the edge of it she reaches to turn the water on and watches as it fills the porcelain before her. When she can feel the temperature change in the room and see the steam rising off the water, she disrobes and begins to lower herself in.  
  


The water is hot enough to burn her and that’s the way she wants it. Hot enough to burn the metaphorical blood off her hands. Hot enough to cleanse her of her sins. Hot enough to rid her of her thoughts of verdant eyes. She begins to recline until she finds herself under the water. She remains underwater in an attempts to drown her demons. It’s only when the burning in her lungs matches the burning of her skin does she resurface. When she breaks the water, a piece of her breaks. Pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on her knees, she can’t help but let out a truly heartbreaking sob. The sobs violently rack her body; tearing her up from within. All is silent until she hears a knock on the bathroom door. She’s positive that it’s Anya coming by to make a last ditch effort at getting the blonde to stop being such a recluse. She hears them knock once more, prompting her to yell:  
  


“Go away, Anya!” The door slowly begins to creak open causing Clarke to pull her knees even closer to her chest to secure that her naked body was not entirely visible. When she sees Lexa Woods step through the threshold, her immediate feeling is one of excitement at seeing the leader of Trikru. It makes her feel so guilty that she wishes she had actually drowned herself moments earlier.  
  


Lexa isn’t in her normal attire, consisting of an expensive, well-tailored suit. Instead, she adorns a nice pair of slacks with the ends rolled up so that her tan ankles are exposed. Designer, brown, dress shoes give way to a nice contrast between them and her crisp, white dress shirt. A gold watch on her wrist completes the more relaxed look. The brunette closes the door behind her and leans her back against whilst keeping her head tilted down in nervousness. If the gravity of this whole situation hadn’t been so prevalent, the florist might have thought she looked cute.  
  


“What are you doing here?”  
  


“I came to check on you. An says you haven’t left this place in a while…how are you?”  
  


The woman in tub scoffs at the absurdity of the question before angrily replying, “How am I? I cant eat. I cant sleep. I cant step one foot out of this place without thinking that everybody knows…knows what I’ve done.” The pure sound of pain in the woman’s voice force Lexa to finally lift her gaze. The way Clarke’s ivory skin glistens thanks to the water and how her blonde locks are slicked back exposing the curvature of her face is enough to make Lexa’s heart stop. Tears roll down the soft slope of her cheeks; finding purchase somewhere in the water around her. Lexa makes cautious steps towards the crying woman, ignoring her anger filled pleas of _go_ and _leave_. She stops in front of the blonde. Bending down to rest on her knees as though she was praying to some kind of deity, she takes in the emotional state of the woman before her before whispering:  
  


“I never meant to turn you into this.” A beat of silence passes between the two women before Clarke asks, “Am I monster?” The firm shake of Lexa’s head is instantaneous at the florist’s question. She reaches out a shaky, tan hand; delicately tilting up the woman’s pale chin.  
  


“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different people.” Leaning into the comforting touch, Clarke replies:  
  


“I used to think everything was black and white, y’know? Good and bad; but now, I’m not so sure.”  
  


“There is not black and white. The world is very grey but, _you_ , Clarke Griffin, you are good.” Lexa sounded so convincing that Clarke almost believed her.

* * *

Time had passed and the two women found themselves resting in Clarke’s bed. The events leading to this had shown Clarke a more tender, caring side of Lexa. The level of comfort she had received from the brunette in her most vulnerable state — both emotionally and physically — had created a sense of safety for Clarke. Lexa had stayed until the once scorching water turned cold and the florist’s skin began to prune. She had helped her out of the tub; averting her eyes in an adorably respectable way as she also helped her get dressed. She held each item of clothing out as delicate hands took them from her and slid them onto smooth, ivory skin. It was quite possibly one of the most intimate moments either woman had ever shared with anyone. That’s why the younger of the two couldn’t help when the words had clawed their way up her throat and out of her mouth.  
  


“Will you stay with me?” To which she received a quick but, certain reply:  
  


“Of course.”   
  


Now, lying in the small bed, facing one another as they analyze each and every detail of each other’s faces Lexa breaks the silence by speaking first.  
  


“I’m sorry for all this. I’m sorry for loosing my cool two weeks ago in your store. You shouldn’t have to see things like that. I was just so angry that someone thought it was okay for them to disrespect you like that.” Clarke reaches out to stroke her thumb over the chiseled cheekbone of the woman lounging beside her.  
  


“Why do you care? I mean we’re practically strangers.”  
  


“I know but, it feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime.” Lexa’s cheeks take on a soft pink tint at her admission causing the corners of Clarke’s mouth to lift slightly in the smallest of smiles.  
  


“Yeah, it kinda does but, you’re _Heda_ and I’m just…me.” The blonde points out the social hierarchy and how she falls way lower on the totem pole than Lexa. The older woman reaches out her hand to push a stray lock of hair behind the blonde’s ear. Neither woman had noticed how close they’d subconsciously shifted toward one another.   
  


“ _You_ are beautiful — inside _and_ out.”  
  


They were so close they could almost taste one another’s breath. Their lips were mere millimeters away from each other and the pull that they’ve felt since they first locked eyes has intensified tenfold. Every feeling comes bubbling to the surface aching, begging for them to just inch a little closer, to just take the leap…and they do. Neither knows who exactly made the first move but, when their lips touch and they come crashing together in the most heated exchange of kisses either have had it doesn’t seem to matter. Every small touch and fleeting glance has lead to this moment of wandering hands and wrestling tongues. They battle one another for dominance as occasional moans escape their mouths.   
  


Feeling Lexa tug at the hem of her shirt, Clarke regains enough function to break the kiss for a moment.  
  


“Wait, wait, wait-”  
  


“What? What’s wrong?” Lexa asked worriedly.  
  


“No, nothings wrong. It’s just…how do I know that I’m not just another notch on your bedpost? I mean you’re _Heda_ , you could have anyone you want and-” Her line of questioning is cut short when she feels those warm, plump lips come to rest on hers again.  
  


“I am also Lexa Woods and Lexa Woods would very much like to take you out on a date.” It almost makes Clarke wanna gag at the feeling of butterflies floating around in her stomach like she’s some kind of horny high school student who gets excited at the idea of spending time with their crush. She cant help but smile at the sincerity in the older woman’s voice and the hopeful twinkle in her emerald eyes. The glimmer of innocence behind that gaze cause her to cave and throw caution to the wind.  
  


“I would very much like to go on a date with Lexa Woods. But, for now lets do a little more of this and little less talking.” The blonde whispers into the quiet of the bedroom; pulling the brunette to her so their lips can meet once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave me a comment here or on my blog, clexa-mafia.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> This work was published to tumblr first and I will post chapters there first before moving them over here. Feel free to follow my blog at clexa-mafia.tumblr.com and leave asks or submissions!


End file.
